


Saturdays

by Pens



Series: Gallavich Mornings [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Guest starring: Toast, M/M, Mickey In Love, who doesn't like Mickey in love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pens/pseuds/Pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saturday mornings are nicest when you're hung over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturdays

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a part of something much longer but I just kind of lost the plot really, so I extracted this and yay.  
> Actually the first Gallavich thing I ever wrote (Just never completed) so there's some trivia for you.  
> ~enjoy~

Mickey Milkovich groaned awake, the feeling of about a thousand kilos crushing down on him, in both the form of a heavy hangover and the dead weight lying on his chest. Mickey was lying on the couch in the apartment he shared with Ian, lying on his back with Ian on top of him, between his legs and face pressed into the side of his neck. They'd been up late the night before, celebrating Ian's 23rd with a plethora of various different types of drinks (non alcoholic for Ian who couldn't drink on his medication), a large pizza and hours worth of Breaking Bad on a thumb drive.

Mickey groaned again and rubbed his face with the hand that wasn't attached to the arm wrapped around Ian's back. Fucking hell, he needed to learn to lighten up on the alcohol when he drank, especially when he was the only one drinking, he was spending far too much money a month on booze, _especially_ for someone who was apparently old and responsible enough to be thinking about how much money he spent a month on booze, geezus.

Bringing his hand to the side of his face, Mickey gazed to the side at the redheaded deadweight with his face pressed so close to Mickey's in this position. He was having a hard time breathing, and only about seventy percent of that was because he'd spent the last nine hours sleeping with Ian's weight on his chest. He still had trouble saying it out loud at times, but Ian was so fucking beautiful, even when he couldn't really see his face and he smelled like day old pizza and sweat. Over the years, Mickey never really got used to it, to the way Ian made him feel, to his stupid smile, and his stupid freckles, and his dumb red hair and pretty face. He was kidding himself when he used to think he could keep their relationship purely sexual, ignoring the feelings he probably started developing right from the start. Younger Mickey was a fucking moron.

Mickey needed aspirin, and a fucking drink, but with his current position sandwiched between the couch and Ian, he couldn't be bothered to exert the energy to get up without waking him. Which meant that Ian was going to have to wake up and move himself, because Mickey also needed to use the bathroom and he wasn't waiting around; Ian could sleep all day after last night and probably would without interference. There was also the whole, 'Ian needing to take his medication' thing, so that sealed the deal.

Mickey shifted his weight a little and brought the hand on Ian's back up to run through his red hair. "Hey." he said softly in Ian's ear. "Wake up, I gotta piss." Ian groaned, nuzzled into Mickey's neck for a moment and inhaled sharply before bringing his weight up onto his elbows and looking down at Mickey, still half asleep and unfairly causing Mickey way too many feelings than he had any right to. "Charmer."

Mickey pushed his shoulder with a scoff and Ian rolled to the side and settled against the back of the couch while Mickey headed to the bathroom, his boyfriend yawning behind him. He finished up in the bathroom quickly, grabbing Ian's medication and a glass of water before he left. He went back to the couch where Ian was now sitting up, watching the rest of the episode they hadn't finished the night before. Mickey threw the bottle of pills into Ian’s lap and put the water on the coffee table before he headed to the kitchen to make breakfast, toast, for the happy hung over.

Neither of them had to be anywhere that day, which was good, because after last night, the last thing Mickey wanted to do was leave the fucking apartment, or do much of anything really. Mickey’s head throbbed. This hangover was killing him. He’d read online the other day that sex was apparently really good for headaches, he might have to talk to Ian about testing that out later. Mickey groaned, God this toaster was fucking slow.

The toast finally popped and Mickey walked back into the tiny main room with the plate and a jar of jam. He handed the plate to Ian who stuffed a piece in his mouth before Mickey even sat down. “Jesus, Jughead, chew before you fucking swallow, yeah?” Ian just hummed back at him and reached for the jam, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

And if Mickey also smiled like a doofus as he settled back against the couch, stealing a piece of toast from the plate on Ian’s lap, then noone outside their tiny apartment had to know.


End file.
